Spare Me The Details
by azala23
Summary: A short depiction of Yamcha's anguish after Bulma reveals she is pregnant. One-shot.


"At least things can't get any worse."

The memory of the words ruminated in his brain, turning every corner in his mind until the thought completely engulfed him, swallowing his entire essence in its irony.

"Can't get...any worse..."

He felt his stomach sink like an anchor in his body. Heat rose beneath his skin, beads of sweat breaking through his pores. The room almost looked as if it were spinning beneath his feet, the ceiling stretching further and further from him. Somersaults of air pocketed in his throat as he gasped for oxygen. He clawed at the cabinet behind him attempting to steady himself. Finally he was able to choke down the lump in this throat and speak.

"You're pregnant?" Yamcha said softly, each word floating on his whisper.

His ex-girlfriend sat at the table in front of him, nodding her head gently, her turquoise locks waving alongside her jaw. He could see small pools of tears form on the horizon of her eyes, sparkling so brightly they'd be beautiful had they not held such tragedy. A tragedy. That's what this certainly was.

He finally caught his balance long enough to move. He walked to the table, a numbing sensation crawling up his calves. Reaching his destination, he collapsed in the chair across from Bulma.

"I told you that you needed to sit for this." She coughed through a few tears.

He stared at her wet face, trying to decide what his next reaction would be. He knew that something had been going on with her and that alien scum. That murderer. When he saw the way she looked at him, almost doting over the vile creature, he thought of those words that now taunted and tormented him.

"At least things can't get any worse."

Apparently, they can. And they did.

He couldn't help but blame himself. He was the one who had wanted space in this relationship, and now she had wandered off and found someone else to fulfill the apparent void in her life.

Who's lonely now?

Yamcha pulled his head forward and cradled it in his hands, his elbows digging into the table beneath them. He tried to calm his uneasy breath, unsure if he was about to throw up or start crying. To his surprise, he did neither.

"Are...are you ok?" Bulma reached a hand over to his arm. Her touch sent jolts of electricity through him as he snapped his neck up. Although tears still poured from her eyes, her voice was stable, strong. She was holding it together better than he was. The words he desperately needed to ask found their way to the surface, even though he already knew the answer.

"Is it Vegeta's?" He hissed as his knuckles slammed on the table. Her body jumped from the noise before settling back in her chair. Those gorgeous azure eyes unleashed a flood as she dropped her head into her lap, finally sobbing uncontrollably.

"Bulma, answer me! Is it Vegeta's?!" His tone raised to a demanding roar.

She lifted her head back up, their eyes making contact. His eyes were usually cheery and bright but in this moment, they were dark and consuming. She had never seen such rage in him.

"Yes." She murmured before burying her head in her hands.

"You're going to be a single mother now, you realize that? Do you have any idea what this means?! That monster will never be a father!" He growled, anger rising in his lungs.

"I know that!" She spat, "I don't know how this happened. It started as just one night and before I realized what was happening..."

"Spare me the details." Yamcha interrupted, trying to hold his stomach together, a chill flowing up his spine.

Bulma folded over in her chair continuing to cry. He couldn't take it any longer.

All she heard was the screech of the chair scraping across the wood ground of Capsule Corp., then footsteps landing on the few pieces of flooring that creaked with agony. The opening of the door. The slamming of the door.

He had gone and she was left alone.

Yamcha used his hand as a visor in an attempt to block the harsh light of the sun. "As long as I live, I'll never forgive that child." He swore to himself.

He felt so betrayed by the one person he always counted on. Sure, they had been broken up for a quite a few months now, but they remained in close contact even after breaking up. They still even hung out occasionally. It was clear now that she was just using him as company while her new psychopath was busy ignoring her. How would he ever be able to recover from this? The woman he loved was carrying the spawn of that mad-man. What kind of demon child could this affair create? He hated Vegeta. He hated the baby. But worse, he couldn't bring himself to hate Bulma.

He flew off in the direction of his apartment. In his brain, he went through different numbers of girls he had been seeing lately. They were all basically the same: blonde, bubbly, but boring. Would a night with one of them help soothe the ache in his heart? The thought of lying next to anyone right now made his stomach churn. Perhaps he just needed a few nights alone with Puar.

He unlocked the door to his home, entered, and flopped immediately on the couch, his face burying in the soft fabric. Finally, he let himself go, sobbing silently into the sofa. His body spasmed with every wail, shaking with every gulp of air. He lifted his head over the side of the furniture and dry heaved for a few seconds before hiding his face once again into his couch.

He and Bulma had an extensive history having spent over a decade together since they were children. This couldn't possibly be happening. How did she even know that it was Vegeta's? Not long ago, they had an intimate night together. Maybe he was the father? He did a quick count and it was so long ago that there's no way she was just now finding out she was pregnant. He wondered if she had been sleeping with both of them at the same time. He dry heaved again at the thought.

"Yamcha, are you ok?" He heard the high-pitched squeak of his lifelong friend, Puar. He slowly lifted his head from the sofa, the wetness from his face dripping down his neck.

"Yeah, buddy, I'm ok. Everything's fine." He wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt.

"Don't lie, clearly something is wrong. Did something happen at Bulma's?" Puar pressed.

He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Telling someone would mean that it was real and that this was not some horrible nightmare that he would soon wake up from. He stared down at his hands, praying the words would come out.

"Bulma's..." He started to create a sentence until he began dry heaving again. No, wait...actual heaving this time. He sprinted to the bathroom right before coughing up the fowl liquids that had been boiling in his gut. His pal floated above him, pawing his back gently. Yamcha and Bulma had their struggles, but nothing had ever made him physically ill before. Until this moment, Puar had been unsure if they had even broken up. Something told him this time was for real.

Once he had finished, he dragged himself back to the couch, his limbs feeling heavy beneath the weight of his body. He dropped to the sofa, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. Puar came from the kitchen with a glass of water, placing it next to his friend.

"When you're ready to talk, let me know. You know I'm always here for you." The cat purred, floating gracefully out of the room.

Yamcha was drowning in the vision of Vegeta and Bulma in bed: his skin on her skin, his touch on her body. The play by play made him want to lose it. He blinked harshly, trying to shake the image from his mind. He curled his knees up to his chin and rested his head.

"At least things can't get any worse."

In a flash, he threw himself to his feet, tossing the coffee table in the air. He punched the wooden table with all of his might, disintegrating it's entirety with one blow. He collapsed to his knees, screaming into the floor. Puar ran from his room to comfort his friend, but was scared to get in the way of his wrath.

"Yamcha, maybe we should go train somewhere. We could call Tien or Krillin or someone. Give you a nice sparring partner." Puar started.

"Vegeta's the father!" Yamcha finally yelled in Puar's face.

"The father of what?!" The cat flinched in surprise. "What are you saying?"

"Bulma's baby, Puar. Bulma is pregnant. It's Vegeta's, that SCUM!" He pounded his fists into the ground, debris flying everywhere from the impact.

Puar suddenly felt sick, himself. How did this happen? When? Why?! VEGETA?! He remembered back to the time Vegeta first came to live on Earth. Bulma didn't fear him at all and actually exhibited an ounce of control over his maniacal self. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. But did she love him? Or was it a fleeting affair?

"Yamcha...I'm so sorry. But it was clearly an accident. Did you talk to her about it at all?"

"I couldn't. I could barely breathe being in the same room as her let alone talk. This is unforgivable. Isn't it?" He fell over on his side, pulling his body back into the fetal position. Puar sat on the back of couch listening as intently as he could, but this came as a huge shock. It was hard to hear and even harder to watch his friend deteriorate before his eyes.

"You're going to have to talk to her eventually. You don't have to face it now, but Bulma's part of the gang. We need her. And we need you two to be on some sort of decent terms." Puar sighed heavily.

Yamcha heard what his friend was saying, but suddenly his eyelids felt like lead curtains tugging closed. Without a word, he let himself drift off into a restless sleep, his dreams infiltrated by images of his enemy and his ex love.

Sunrise the next morning shook him from his rest and consciousness came upon him like an earthquake. Wide-eyed, he looked around his otherwise dark apartment. He squinted at the clock: 6:04 am. He had slept for over 15 hours straight and he was grateful his roommate let him be. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw the 7 missed calls from Bulma and 1 from Tien. He locked his phone and closed his eyes again. He wasn't ready, yet.

When he awoke again, the clock on the table flashed 12:35 pm teasingly in his face, a reminder that he was sleeping his life away. He was tormented in his sleep by nightmares, but no dream was as horrible as the waking world. And so he continued to sleep, crushing his eyelids together tightly and praying he'd drift back off. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he peeled himself off of the couch and began rummaging through the kitchen cabinet. This was a job for some sleeping pills. He popped 3 into his mouth then slunk to his room this time. His curtains were darker and perhaps he'd be able to avoid the sunlight for as long as possible. He threw the blankets over his head and passed out promptly.

Suddenly, the buzzing of his phone jerked him from his slumber. He fumbled around before finally nabbing the devise and seeing Bulma was calling once again. He was feeling especially light headed and wasn't sure if this was really even happening. He clicked his phone completely off and tossed it under his bed. He glanced once more at the clock before falling back asleep: 5:22 pm.

"Puar, let me in. I need to talk to him." Yamcha heard a familiar voice in his dream. It sounded distant, hollow, but it rang clearly in his dream. Bulma. He could feel himself being pulled into reality once again and he fought it with all of his might. Waking up would mean having to face that voice, and he was not strong enough to do it. But, his body had other plans for him as he ripped into consciousness. He felt groggy from the sleeping pills. 8:56 pm.

"I'm not leaving until you let me in! At least tell him I'm here!" Bulma's voice grated on his ears, she was always so loud. He lazily tossed his legs over the side of his bed, wanting to get up but finding it hard to find his footing. He finally managed to muster up the energy to stand and made his way towards his fate.

"Bulma, please just go. I'm sorry about what's happening, I really am. But he's in no place to be-" Puar begged until he felt Yamcha's hand on his back. The cat's face fell as he backed away and disappeared into the apartment silently.

Bulma and Yamcha looked thoughtfully at each other. Bulma didn't look much better than he did: her hair was disheveled yet somehow maintained its elegance. Her eyes were framed by obvious dark circles and her face looked pale and swollen. He hadn't looked in a mirror over the past day and a half but he couldn't imagine that he looked great. The silence hung between them for a few moments.

"Can we talk?" Bulma finally said, pushing her way into his apartment. Typical Bulma.

"I guess since you've basically let yourself in." Yamcha shrugged. He was so tired still. He took note of how dizzy he was and sat down on the couch. Bulma followed suit.

"Didn't you used to have a coffee table?" She inquired.

"Used to." He felt his head fall to the side as he caught it with his hand. He was clearly still high from the sleeping pills. Maybe 3 of them was too much?

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You haven't been returning any of my calls. I was so worried about you." She started, keeping her gaze on his face. He kept his eyes shut tightly.

"I'm fine." He moaned.

"HELLO?! Are you even awake?!" Bulma screeched, her loud tone shooting him straight up in his seat.

"Yes, yes, what could you possibly want?" He was a bit angry at her bluntness. He couldn't expect anything less from her, but it irritated him how little tact she possessed at a time like this.

"I said I was worried about you. Yamcha, despite all of this I care so deeply for you..." She began, reaching her porcelain hand out to touch his. Her grip was ice cold.

For a moment, he looked her over. She was still stunningly beautiful, and besides the fact that she was sleeping around with the enemy, she was still the woman he loved for all of those years. If she asked him back now he wasn't sure if he would say no. Would he step in as this child's father figure? Would they be able to give up their equally unfaithful ways and commit? He considered it. But people don't ever change, he reminded himself. Things could never be the same with him knowing where she has been.

"...but," her voice quivered, halting his thoughts. "I have to be honest with you. I...do think I love him. Vegeta. I'm going to try to make it work. I'm not giving up. Not just for me, but for this baby." She removed her hand from him and brought it to her slightly protruding belly. She smiled to herself, a single tear falling from her eyes.

Her words hit him hard. It felt like he had swallowed hot coal, the pain burning down this throat and into his stomach. A tidal wave of depression washed over him as his nerves twisted.

"...Ok." He gulped, trying to catch his breath, "I can't be a part of this, though. If you're going to traipse around hell, you're not bringing me along with you. We can be cordial, sure. But I will have nothing to do with that mass murderer and his spawn." The words spit like acid from his lips.

Bulma looked hurt. What did she expect after admitting her feelings?

"I'm sorry, Yamcha. I didn't plan for things to turn out this way. I wanted you to know that I want you there when I have this baby. Kami-knows his father probably won't be present. But that's ok. This will be ok." She turned to him, hoping to see a shred of forgiveness in his demeanor. She found only emptiness.

"The baby is due in November." She stood up and began walking toward the exit. "I'll let myself out."

"Fuck that baby." He thought to himself as she shut the door. He felt his face grow hot again, his eyes filling up with tears.

"Is she gone? You ok, man?" Puar popped his head from around the corner.

"What does she think that I am?!" He cried, "She thinks I'll just listen to her excuses and pathetic apologies? Put my tail between my legs and do whatever she wants? That's not fair...that's not fair to ME!" His brain was pounding at this point, the mix of heartache and anger swirling inside of him.

"Yamcha, it's going to be ok. Let it hurt. Let it bleed. Let it heal, and then let it go. That's all you can do. You've still got 6 months before the baby is born. Maybe you'll feel differently later..." Puar was trying to be comforting but figured nothing was sticking.

Silently, he tore himself from his seat and decided now would be a good time for a scalding, hot shower. He turned on the faucet, and began a staring contest with his haggard reflection as the steam wiped his vision clear. If only his memory worked the same way. As he stepped into the stream, rivers of warmth poured over his face, rejuvenating him slightly. He pressed his forehead to the cold tile walls, the water continuing to flow down his back. Here, he let himself cry without shame. Thirty minutes past quickly and the water began to cool, suggesting gently that he exit. He stared once more at the mirror, watching closely as his reflection begun to reappear when the fog on the mirror faded.

Let it hurt. Let it bleed. Let it heal. Let it go.

...

Months had passed. Snow was beginning to topple from the sky and Yamcha had finally gotten back into his old routine. He pushed all thoughts of the Briefs family out of his mind, for thinking of his second home made him ache down to his bones. Until now, he had kept himself busy with training and loose women. After all, the androids were only 6 months away from arriving and he needed to focus his energy on training rather than on Bulma. Bulma and that godforsaken child.

His phone began buzzing violently. He shielded his device from the falling snow and checked to see who it was. Dr. Briefs? What could he possibly want?

"Hello?" He answered nervously, afraid of what could have happened that would require a phone call.

"Yamcha, m'boy! I need your help. Do you have any senzu beans on you by chance? Bulma's had her baby here at home but it's been quite the difficult process. We need something STAT." His voice, though friendly, sounded panicked. Yamcha felt a cold wind blow down his neck. Bulma was in trouble?! So much so that she needed a senzu?

He reached his hand in his pocket and fingered the green bean between his index finger and thumb. Why had they come to him instead of Goku? Why was this being put on his shoulders? He grew angry that the child was causing her problems, but he managed to stifle his hatred for a moment. His wounds were being reopened.

Let it hurt.

"I'll be right over." He spoke determinately, hanging up the phone.

He looked over at Tien. The two were in the midst of an intense training session. At this point, he had never told a soul besides Puar about Bulma's predicament and he didn't plan on saying it now.

"Tien, I gotta go. Emergency elsewhere, ya know? I'll call you later, man." He jetted off before Tien could even reply.

The air was frigid on his face as he flew towards Capsule Corp., snowflakes blurring his vision. He finally arrived, trying to sense where she was. He felt an unusually large Ki, probably the child's, and sprinted to where it was resonating from.

He opened the door to find Dr. Briefs and Mrs. Briefs huddled over Bulma's bed. A stranger, assuming the doctor, was fiddling with some sort of contraption a few feet away. Dr. Briefs noticed Yamcha, and spun around quickly. Bulma was now in plain view, her face flushed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her now flat stomach was purple and red with bruises. Her condition made Yamcha gag slightly.

Let it bleed.

"Just in time! Hurry, give her the bean! Seems our little half-Saiyan is a fighter like his father. May have broken some bones on his way out." Dr. Briefs stated matter-of-factly, an almost unrecognizable hint of urgency in his tone.

Yamcha wasted no time, he ran to her side and popped the bean in her mouth. "Come on, Bulma, you have to chew." He gently nudged her jaw, encouraging her to do as he said. She chomped on the bean harshly, pain soaring through her every vein. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she swallowed it and a look of relief washed over her.

"Thank...you..." Her words were breathy and quiet. "How's Trunks?"

"Trunks?" Yamcha quizzed.

The doctor stepped away from the machinery he was messing with. Apparently, it was some sort of crib and in his arms was a small, purple-haired baby. The doctor carried the infant over to Bulma's bedside.

Yamcha could only stare.

"You wanna hold him?" Bulma breathed, wiping sweat from her forehead. Before he could answer, the doctor placed Trunks in his arms.

Let it heal.

He looked down, the little bundle squirming at first before making himself comfortable. Slowly, he opened his big, blue eyes and stared back at Yamcha. Emotion swirled over him: the baby looked like Vegeta, but something was innately different. The innocence plastered on his face was heart warming. His eyes were oceans, containing a deep, pure beauty that he had never witnessed before. He poked a finger at Trunks, the little boy gripping it softly and bringing it to his mouth. He gummed his index finger before finding it distasteful and spitting it out. He grazed his pink cheeks with his thumb, his tan skin soft like cotton. Suddenly, he didn't hate this little boy any longer. He felt all the pain he had been carrying for months slip away and all he could grasp was an immense amount of love and excitement rising through his core. A smile broke his face and he let out a giggle. For the first time in a long time, he was giddy.

"Hi, Trunks," he whispered "I'm your...Uncle Yamcha." Happiness wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and he finally felt like he could breathe. He hugged the infant to his chest, not wanting to let him go.

"Alright, my turn, Uncle Yamcha." Bulma beamed, the life returning to her voice. Yamcha begrudgingly handed Trunks to his mother.

"Do you all mind leaving? I think Bulma needs her rest now." The doctor ordered, leading the group out of her room. As they began to leave, standing in the doorway was Vegeta, finally making his big appearance. Dr. and Mrs. Briefs made no commotion about it and simply walked past him, Mrs. Briefs sending an obvious wink his way. Yamcha flinched at the sight of the Saiyan, shocked that he was actually here and actually willing to be some sort of a father. For once, Yamcha believed that Trunks was in capable hands. He nodded and smiled at Vegeta before exiting the room himself, carrying with him a newfound feeling of peace.

"Who are you? I said no one is allowed in here!" He heard the doctor say.

"I am the Prince of all Saiyans and I'm going to see my brat!" Vegeta scoffed.

He laughed to himself as he walked out into the snow.

Yamcha used his hand as a visor in an attempt to block the harsh light of the sun.

"As long as I live, I'll protect that child with everything I have." He swore to himself.

Let it go.


End file.
